Cajun Magic 02 - Voodoo for Two (10 page)

Anger quickly replaced embarrassment. If she had been wearing sturdier shoes, she’d have aimed one at Ben’s shin. The creep! Warming her up, her fanny—setting her on fire was more the case.

With all the haughtiness of a president’s wife, she tilted her nose back a bit. “Thank you for the dance.” And with as much grace as she could muster, she slid into Eric’s arms and danced him away from Ben.

“Hey, isn’t it usual for the man to lead?” Eric laughed down at her, holding her lightly in his arms. Unlike Ben’s proprietary grip.

She slowed her escape and attempted a laugh that came out sounding more like a choked giggle. “I’m sorry, Eric. Must be the stress of all those reporters lurking on the edges of the crowd.”

“If this is too much for you, tell me. I’ll have you home before you can say ‘Louisiana.’”

“No, no. But I am a little warm.” And her discomfort had nothing to do with the air temperature. Dancing with Eric didn’t mesh with the aftereffects of Ben’s touch still running rampant in her system. “Do you think we could sit this one out?”

“Certainly. I have our drinks on a table nearby. What say we grab them, and you and I can walk along the boardwalk?”

At this point, she would grasp at any method of escaping Ben’s presence. “Perfect.” She hurried Eric out of the crowd and snatched up the plastic cups filled with half-melted ice and watered-down tea. “Quick, before we’re followed.” She handed one of the cups to Eric, grabbed his hand, and tugged him through the gate leading to the raised walkway extending out over the swamp.

Once past the noise and crush of the masses, she slowed her pace and relaxed, allowing the monotonous drone of the bayou creatures to soothe her jangled nerves.

At the farthest point of the walkway was an observation deck, large enough to hold ten or more people. Benches allowed visitors to take a break or just to sit and enjoy the sights and sounds unique to the swamp experience. Little plaques bolted to the railing at intervals gave the reader factoids about the local flora and fauna. But in the light of a half moon, the writing was impossible to see.

And apparently Eric wasn’t interested in reading, anyway
.
He leaned his backside against the rail and pulled her into his arms.

Too soon! Too soon!
She’d barely gotten her breathing back to normal from her encounter with Ben. How could she go right into another man’s arms? Especially when that man seemed intent on kissing her?

“Did you know the parish elementary schools raised the money to have this nature walk built? It took them five years to come up with enough cash,” she gushed. “Not only did they raise the money, they also helped with the actual construction, clearing weeds, and cleaning up after the workers.”

With a gentle touch, Eric pressed his finger to her lips, stilling her next words.

Uh-oh. He was definitely going to k—

His mouth descended on hers, warm and tender, and incredibly sweet.

The kiss started out as gentle, yet firm against her lips. Not bad, so far. His lips were warm and sensuous, not thin and rock hard.

The pressure increased and his tongue darted out to tease hers.

Okay, so she should let him in to see if his kiss was any better or worse than Ben’s. She eased her lips and teeth open.

She returned his kiss, determined to find in him all the passion she’d felt in Ben’s kiss the day before. She stood on her tiptoes and laced her arms around Eric’s neck, pressing her body against his.

He pulled her close, deepening the pressure, sliding his tongue between her teeth, delving for, and toying with, hers.

Still…

Nothing
.

But love could grow, couldn’t it? Given time, she’d grow to love Eric more than Ben. At least he’d respect her. Eric made her forget the ugly rumors, the names she’d been called growing up. He’d never call her a bayou bimbo. He’d love her and take care of her. He was just that kind of man.

She pressed harder against him. Why couldn’t she feel anything more for him than sincere like? He was a great guy, for heaven’s sake!

The more she tried to feel it, the less she did. The kiss was not working.

A click and a flash of light pierced the gloom.

“What the hell?” Eric straightened, his hands dropping to his sides.

She jumped away from him, blinking, her night vision temporarily blinded. “What was that?” In her mind, though, she was glad for the intrusion. She needed time to think, to understand.

“Damned reporter.” Eric reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. “We need to talk.”

Unable to think of a coherent response, she nodded. Yes, they needed to talk. Although with thoughts pinging around inside her head like the little metal ball in the pinball machine, she didn’t have a clue what she’d say.

“Right now, we’d better get back to the party.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the boardwalk.

The closer they got to the lights and music, the more she knew she couldn’t go back. Not like this. Not after her sensual dance with Ben and her failed kiss with Eric.

Suddenly, a tiny dot of fluorescent green flashed in her peripheral vision.

The love bug!

So much for escaping the crowd, Ben, and Eric. She had to stay and catch the damned bug before it messed up any more lives.

But first she had to ditch Eric. “I sure could use another sweet tea.”

“Don’t move. I’ll get you one.” He darted off toward the bar. The crowd around the free alcohol had expanded. Poor Eric would be busy for a while. Good.

She spotted the bug just outside the pavilion, not near any people yet but closing in fast on a small group standing at the edge of the platform. Maurice Saulnier stood next to Calliope and DeeDee, all three watching as Mrs. Boyette sailed by with Larry still in her clutches. Mo’s deep, rumbling laughter echoed across the open-air pavilion to Lucie.

As if drawn by his amusement, the ladybug altered course and zeroed in on Mo.

Oh, damn
. If she didn’t hurry, any one of them, or all three, could be hexed.

Running in high heels and dodging partying Cajuns was like negotiating an obstacle course. By the time she’d crossed the pavilion, the bug had made a complete circle around Mo’s head.

Still too far to do anything about it, she was blocked by a group of rabble-rousers just starting a conga line. The line was a solid mass, a human barricade. No one would budge from his or her position to allow her to pass through.

“Calliope!” Heads turned at Lucie’s shout, but the noise of the music and loud conversations continued.

Calliope stepped away from Mo, closing the distance between her and Lucie. But the conga line had expanded between them.

“The bug!” Lucie shouted and pointed at Mo.

With Calliope out of the picture, the hesitant bug made its decision and plotted an erratic path in DeeDee Dubois’s direction.

“Oh, no!” Calliope launched herself at a laughing DeeDee, tackling her to the ground in an unattractive tangle of legs and fancy dresses.

From her position, trapped behind the conga line, Lucie could only shake her head.

Too late
. Maurice and DeeDee could be added to the list of tragic victims of her careless meddling.

The bug had made its circle, cast its spell, and was now racing after Larry and Mrs. Boyette.

With Calliope down for the count and a bunch of inebriated, rowdy Cajuns blocking her path, Lucie could only watch, dread swishing around in her belly like stump water.

Mrs. Boyette stopped, with her hand still on Larry’s arm, to talk to Elaine Smith. Where the hell was Craig, Elaine’s fiancé?

Move, Mrs. Boyette! Move!
Elaine scanned the room as if looking for someone and finally pointed at the far corner.

Lucie swung around to see what Elaine had pointed at. Poor unsuspecting Alex stood guzzling a beer and talking with Eric in a darkened corner.

Good
. Maybe Mrs. Boyette would get Larry out of there before the bug reached—

Oh crap!

The fluorescent green dot circled Larry’s head just as Mrs. Boyette grabbed his arm and marched him away from Elaine
.

“No!” Lucie leaped at the conga line. “Let me through!”

Mozelle Reneau made room for her, but only enough to trap her into the dance. Swept into the bouncing, wiggling whip, she twisted to look over her shoulder. She could only watch in utter dismay as the bug rounded Elaine’s curly dark hair.

When she finally broke through the line, the love bug had disappeared into the swamp and Elaine stood staring after Larry, a dazed expression on her face.

The sudden awareness of someone standing beside her put Lucie’s nerves on alert. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, while a ghost of excitement trickled downward. Only one man had that effect on her.

Ben leaned close, his breath stirring her hair. “What are you up to, Lucie LeBieu?”

Chapter Ten

Lucie groaned. “Why can’t you just go away?”

Trouble was, Ben couldn’t quite figure out the answer to that very question, either.

And it bugged him.

Every time he was near her, he ached to touch her. Earlier, on the dance floor, he’d completely forgotten where he was—an easy thing to do when she was in his arms.

He was saved from answering her question when Pascal Pasquale broke through the boisterous conga line.

The Cajun security guard’s angry scowl, in stark contrast with the smiling faces of the other revelers, triggered his cop instincts.

Pascal marched toward Lucie, his steps on the unsteady side, but his gaze intent, as if he were looking for a fight.

Ben stepped forward, blocking Pascal’s path. “Pascal, it’s been a long time. What can I do for you?”

“You can get outta my way, for one.” Pascal glared up at him. “I wanna talk to Lucie.”

“Why don’t you let someone drive you home. You’ve had more than enough liquor for one night.”

“I don’t need no ex-cop tellin’ me what I oughta do.” He stood his ground, swaying slightly. “I wanna talk to Lucie.”

“Guess you’ll have to talk through me, then, ‘cause I’m not letting you near her the way you’re acting.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest.

Pascal clenched his fists and glared at him, hesitating as if he couldn’t decide whether to fight or leave.

Lucie touched Ben’s arm. “Let him talk. I don’t want a fight.”

“You heard the woman, let her talk to me.” Pascal smirked.

“Are you sure?” He frowned down at her.

“Sure. Pascal and I are old friends, aren’t we?”

“Not in our lifetime.” Pascal’s words were shot at her as if he spat nails. “I saw what you did on the boardwalk.”

“Pascal.” She darted a glance at Ben. “You know it’s not nice to spy on people.”

“You’ve been kissing him.” The guard heaved huge amounts of air into his lungs, blowing it out through his nostrils like the cornered beast at a Spanish bullfight. “Pascal Pasquale is never good enough for you—you swamp trash!” Pascal lunged for her.

Ben stepped in the middle of them, grabbing hold of Pascal’s arm and wrenching it back and up between the angry man’s shoulder blades. “That’s enough, Pascal. No one wants a fight here.”

“You won’t go out with me, but you’ll go out with that rich son of a bitch who doesn’t deserve you. You know he’ll never marry you.”

“Shut up, Pascal.” Ben jerked the man’s arm harder until he gasped and held his tongue. “Now are you going to leave nicely or am I gonna have to call the sheriff over here? I saw him looking this way.”

When Pascal refused to answer, Ben pushed his arm up higher.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave.”

“What’s going on here?” Eric walked up with two plastic cups in his hands.

“We were just having a little discussion, weren’t we?” Ben retained his hold on Pascal.

“
It’s all your fault—you and your father’s. You Littingtons take everything from de Pasquales!” Pascal lunged at Eric.

The congressional candidate gracefully dodged the attack, drinks intact.

“Pascal, what you be doin’ both’rin’ dese nice people?” Pete Pasquale, Pascal’s father, stepped through the crowd. “Ain’t you got no better manners ‘n dat?”

“But Pappa—”

“Don’t interrupt me when I be talkin’, boy.” Pete’s reprimand cut through Pascal’s protest.

Pascal’s angry frown turned sullen, his chin jutting out farther.

“Now what seems to be da problem?” Wearing faded jeans and a fancy cowboy shirt adorned with mother-of-pearl snaps, Pete tapped the shiny toe of his alligator-skin boots and stared across his son’s shoulder at Ben. “My boy been causin’ a ruckus?”

Ben didn’t like the way Pete talked down to Pascal, but he had more pressing problems, like hanging on to one red-hot ragin’ Cajun ready to rumble. “He needs to go home and sleep it off.”

“I’ll take da boy. No need to call da sheriff over here.” He smiled and waved at the sheriff standing with a group near the band, and then Pete turned a scowl on his son. “Is dere, boy?”

Pascal’s lips thinned into a tight line.

“
Is
dere?” Pete asked again, his voice even more forceful than the last time.

Clearly reluctant to bow to his father’s will, Pascal muttered, “No sirruh.”

“I can take him from here, Ben,” Pete said.

Pascal still shook beneath Ben’s hold. The rage radiated heat up through his hands. “Are you going to go peaceful-like?”

“Yes, he will. Woncha, boy?” Pete answered for his son.

With a withering look, Ben said, “I was talking to Pascal.” He leaned close to Pascal’s ear. “Do I need to call the sheriff over here?”

“Lighten up on da arm,” Pascal responded. “I’ll come.”

By this time, a crowd of reporters had gathered around the three, cameras clicking and flashing, adding to the noise and confusion. Ben shoved Pascal out from beneath the pavilion before he let go of the man’s arm.

“What you think you be doin’, boy?” Pete whacked Pascal upside the head as he climbed into the rusted-out hull of a pickup, parked nearby.

Pascal’s fists clenched. “Don’t hit me.”

“Ain’t never gonna amount to nothin’, boy, if you can’t make nice with important folks like our very own congressional candidate.” Pete smiled back at Eric. “Why can’t ya be more like him?”

Pascal collapsed into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

“That boy looks like he done bit into a green persimmon.” Mozelle Reneau stood next to Ben.

He responded with a nod.

“What did he mean by the Littingtons taking everything from the Pasquales?” Lucie asked.

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “He works for Littington Enterprises. I can’t understand why he’d turn on me like that.”

“Eric,” Lucie put a hand on his arm. “It was the alcohol talking tonight. You’re not going to fire him, are you?”

“I don’t know,” Eric shook his head. “He was pretty angry. I’m not sure I can trust him at the complex if he feels like that.”

She lowered her voice. “He was only mad because he saw you and me.”

Ben’s gut tightened. She’d left his arms to go out into the swamp with Eric. “He was mad because he saw you two kissing.” His words came out a lot harsher than he’d intended.

“It was none of his business who I was kissing. He had no right to accost you.” Eric set the plastic cups down and grabbed both of her hands.

Ben fought the urge to step between them.
He
wanted to be the one holding her hands and kissing her in the swamp.

She glanced up from beneath her lush, black eyelashes in what Ben knew was one of her best give-Lucie-what-Lucie-wants looks. “Give him another chance, Eric. I feel like it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” Eric pressed her fingers to his chest.

The minx bit her bottom lip, staring at her hands intertwined with Eric’s. “Maybe not, but I don’t like being the cause of a fight.”

Ben snorted.

She rewarded him with a glare.

Which only made him smile. He loved getting under her skin. His lower region twitched, reminding him there were other places on her body he’d liked to get to as well.

Apparently, Eric didn’t notice their little interaction. He looked up from their combined hands and gazed into her eyes. “You have a good heart, Lucie, to be concerned about Pascal. Must be why I like you so much. I’ll think about it.”

If Eric got any sweeter with Lucie, Ben wouldn’t be held responsible for the contents of his belly. And if he didn’t like Eric so much, he’d punch the guy for acting like a lovesick fool.

Lucie smiled so brightly Ben had to squint from the glare. “Thank you, Eric. Pascal’s not so bad, he’s just had a crush on me since fifth grade. I don’t know why he can’t get over it.”

Ben knew why. Lucie was hard to shove out of your mind. Even a few hundred miles away in Baton Rouge, she’d seemed to sneak into his thoughts at least once or twice a day—and all night long.

Pascal didn’t understand what motivated Lucie. She wanted only the best cut. He and Pascal both were hamburger compared to Eric’s prime rib. Who’d settle for hamburger when they could have prime rib?

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Eric said.

“Yeah,” Lucie perched on one foot and ran the other up her leg behind her calf. “I think I’ve had all the fun my stiletto heels will allow for one night.”

Muscles and nerves jerked to attention in Ben’s body. That ankle caressing her calf set all kinds of ideas skittering across his overly active libido.
Would they please get the hell out of there before he did something stupid?

Let Eric have her. Although that ground Ben’s gut as effectively as beans in a coffee grinder. Just as Lucie had said about Pascal, Ben would just have to get over it. She wouldn’t be with him if he were the last man in Louisiana—unless maybe he owned Louisiana. On a detective’s salary, that wasn’t likely to happen in his lifetime.

Eric pounded Ben’s shoulders. “Ben, it’s been fun. You’ll stay, won’t you? Plenty of alcohol and music.” He led Lucie toward the cars.

“Yeah, lots of alcohol and music.” He hadn’t noticed when “Cotton-Eyed Joe” had started playing. Normally, it was one of his favorites. He and Lucie used to burn up the dance floor to that particular number. And just because she was leaving with another man shouldn’t take the fun out of the song.

About that time the crowd yelled in unison “Bullshit!” in time to the music.

Okay, so maybe he was still hung up on the Cajun beauty, a little.

“Bullshit!” the crowd shouted again.

Okay, maybe a lot.

Eric and Lucie picked their way across the gravel parking lot to Eric’s glossy BMW.

Ben had to admit, Lucie looked cool and elegant in her pale dress. No doubt, she could hold her own in a crowd of politicians.

But would she be happy?

…

Hobbling across the gravel, Lucie cursed her shoes. She was just about to lean down and slip them off to run barefoot to the car when Eric hooked her elbow and helped her along. The person who’d designed stilettos must have been a man—one who’d never had to walk across gravel in these stupid excuses for women’s footwear.

She could feel Ben’s gaze like a slow burn at the base of her neck, yet she refused to turn and look back. Why the hell did he have to come back to Bayou Miste now? After seven years, she’d been certain she was over him. So why did his being here bother her so much? She didn’t know, but the sooner she got out of striking distance of his laser vision—and out of these killer shoes—the better.

When they reached the car, her sigh of relief turned to a gasp. “Ohmigod!”

“What the hell?” Eric exclaimed.

Every tire on the little sports car was slashed to shreds, and long scrapes marred the custom finish along the side panels. With only one spare in the trunk, the BMW wasn’t going anywhere.

“Who would have done this?” She stood staring at the vandalized vehicle, stunned.

He circled the front and pointed. “Look at this.”

Limping to the front, she read the spray-painted words, “Swamp Killer!”

“Good God, Eric. The protesters have gone too far with this. Don’t they know you and your father aren’t even responsible for the dumping?”

Eric shoved his hands into his pocket
.
“They may not care who dumped the toxins. Big companies make great targets. But this vandalism can’t be tolerated.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and clicked on a speed-dial number.

“The sheriff’s here, Eric. Who are you calling?”

“The auto club. The vehicle isn’t fit to drive.”

“I’m sure we can get a lift home from any one of the guests.”

“My father left thirty minutes ago, or I’d ask him to take us.”

While Eric spoke to the auto club, she balanced first on one aching foot, and then the other.

“Having problems?”

The one leg she was standing on buckled at the knee at the softly spoken words resonating next to her ear. With barely a second to spare, she got the other foot beneath her before she fell into a graceless heap. She inhaled deeply, willing her heart to a more normal pace before turning to level a we-can-handle-this-ourselves stare at Ben Boyette. “Don’t you ever go away?”

His smile was smug, his eyebrows inching upward a couple hairs, like Spock’s did on the old
Star Trek
reruns.

She wanted to kick his shins. Again.

Eric pressed the end button. “Oh, good. Ben, would you mind giving us a lift home? Seems someone’s had a little fun with my car.”

What was Eric thinking? Her heart kicked back into overdrive, slamming blood through her veins.
Calm. Just keep calm
. “I’m sure Ben wants to enjoy the party a little longer
.
Why don’t you fetch the sheriff while I talk to Miz Mozelle
?
I’m sure she wouldn’t mind taking us home.”

“Not to worry.” Ben gave a half smirk. “I was about to leave anyway. I’d be delighted to take the two of you home.”

Delighted
.
Lucie wanted to wipe the smug look off his face with her shoe.

“Great
,
” Eric said. “Let me snag the sheriff first, then we can leave.” Before she could protest, he’d jogged off across the gravel to find the sheriff.

Which left her stuck standing next to Ben. Alone. In the dark. Where a person could imagine all kinds of actions she wouldn’t even contemplate in the daylight. A tingling sensation shivered across her nerve endings. She turned her back on the object of her confusion.

Alone with Ben Boyette was the last place she wanted to be
.
Her body didn’t know how to respond when he was around. Or rather, her body responded just as it pleased, despite what her head tried to tell it.

“Lucie, we just heard what happened
.
” Alex and Calliope swooped in to the rescue before she was forced into conversation with Ben.

Thank God for nosy friends and neighbors.

Eric and the sheriff were close behind. Soon, a crowd had gathered around the damaged car, insulating her from the Ben Boyette Effect.

Alex pulled her to the fringes of the crowd. “So how’s the magic working?”